Convergence

Driving up the steep, hillside road with only the tail- lights of Neil's car for a guide, Mulder kept one hand gripped tightly on the steering wheel. Reaching into his coat pocket with the other hand, he drew out his cell phone and lifted it to his ear, then punched the top speed-dial button without bothering to turn his eyes. The button itself was worn with the travail of long and familiar use, and the beeps rang in his ear in a comforting pattern.

Her voice was sleepy when it answered, and he could envision her face in his mind - the tangle of rich auburn hair surrounding a pair of sapphire-like eyes; the mouth wide and full- lipped above a slightly pointed chin.

"Scully, it's me," he announced.

"Mulder..." He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"Actually, I haven't tried yet. It's been a rather busy night, but look - could you do something for me?"

"Mmmm, give me a moment." The sound of motion echoed in his ear, skin sliding across sheets followed by the click of a lamp switch, and then her voice coalesced into awareness.

"OK - sure, what's going on?"

"I just want you to check on something, put out a few feelers and see what bites."

"Alright - does this have to be tonight?"

He laughed. "No, tomorrow is fine. I'm interested in a case called "The Goldilocks Murder" - a man named Neil Avedon is on trial here in Los Angeles."

"Yes, I've heard about it. The victim was a fifteen year- old girl, and they charged a movie-star with her murder. In fact I saw his latest film just last night - Deadbolt."

"Yeah, that's the one." He paused, then threw out the words defiantly. "He didn't do it, Scully. He didn't kill her."

"What? Mulder..." Scully felt a familiar exasperation creep into her voice, but the utter certainty in his tone made her pause. Thoughtfully, she asked, "I'm not an expert on the case, but what I have heard makes it look pretty open-and-shut. And you know the police, even the *LA* police, don't often make those kinds of mistakes."

"I know. And under other circumstances, I'd agree with you."

"But..." she prompted.

"But that was before I met Neil Avedon. He's not a killer, Scully. He's certainly got his share of troubles, but he didn't do this. I've seen his reaction to violence - he was horrified - that reaction wasn't faked, I'm sure of it."

"His reaction to what? Mulder, what on earth is going on?"

"Look, it's a long story and it's late. Just do me a favor and see what you can find out, especially about the first man they arrested for the murder, ummm, Richard Cross. C-R-O-S-S. Richard. I'll fill you in on the rest of it later."

"Mulder..." She sighed with resignation, causing him to smile into the phone.

"Sleep well, Scully." He hit the end button and returned the phone to his pocket. Putting his hand back on the steering wheel, he drove into a long, tree-lined driveway.

The house sprawled out on one level, resting in the hillside at an angle, allowing the left side to lift slightly off the ground. The walls were white stucco with yellow trim framing huge windows. Bushy shrubs lined the front walls, opening in the middle for a set of marble stairs that led up to a metallic gold- painted door. Neil punched in the alarm code, then swung the door open to let them both inside.

The front hallway gave way into a wide, high-ceilinged room centered on a big, old-fashioned fireplace. The colors were light, soft shades of cream, brown and green giving it an airy look. A chocolate-colored leather couch faced a big screen TV built into the wall, surrounded by shelves filled primarily with video tapes, spotted here and there with a few paperback books. Staring at it as though for the first time, Neil had to appreciate the designer's skill, though he suddenly felt the lack of his own touch in the room.

Mulder stepped up behind him, his eyes appreciative. "Nice," he commented.

Neil smiled wryly, "It ought to be considering what I paid for it."

"Ahh, a designer original?"

Neil chuckled. "Yes, decorating was never my strong point. Sometimes, I get the strongest urge to start throwing stuff around, just to mark the place as mine."

"You should see my apartment," Mulder replied wryly. "It tends to be a permanent disaster. Scully says it reminds her of a cavern - small and dark and dusty. I don't have anywhere near this much space."

"I wish I didn't." Neil replied, sitting down on the couch, gesturing for Mulder to join him. "I've thought about selling out and getting a condo, but so much is already happening right now - it's been low on the priority list."

"That's understandable." Mulder sank rather gratefully into the leather-covered cushions, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

The conversation died down into one of those silences that somehow, between them, had never managed to be uncomfortable. This time, it was broken not by words, but with a strident grumble from Neil's stomach.

While Mulder grinned, Neil rubbed at his belly, laughing. "I never got dinner, and I'm starving. I promised you some coffee, how about something to eat?" Food had been a secondary effort over the past couple months, but right now he felt as though he could happily have eaten the proverbial horse.

"Sure, I'm always hungry," Mulder replied. "Scully says I've got a black hole in the bottom of my stomach."

"Dinner it is then," Neil said, getting to his feet. "Come on, the kitchen's back here. I think I've got a couple steaks in the freezer."

"Sounds good." Mulder followed him into another big, open room, the walls lined with a surfeit of counter-space and cabinets. Next to a double-sink, a big two-door refrigerator- freezer hummed happily to itself. Neil opened the door, then paused, staring inside.

"Umm, steaks I got." He tossed a paper-wrapped package onto the counter, where it hit with a satisfying thump. "Other than that? Well, I'm not much of a veggi eater, but I've got some frozen corn."

"That's fine with me, I usually leave the rabbit food to my partner."

Neil smiled, retrieving the plastic bag of sheared corn, and dumping it on the counter next to the steaks.

"I'll start the coffee maker, do you want anything else in the meantime?"

"What've you got?"

"Water, tonic water, orange juice..." Neil lifted up that carton, opened it and sniffed at it. His eyes screwed shut as he yanked it away from his face. "Better scratch the juice. How about some Diet Pepsi?"

"That's fine," Mulder said, moving closer to peer over Neil's shoulder as he dumped the gloppy contents of the OJ carton down the sink. "Looks like some of the contents of my refrigerator," he commented. "Though mine is usually a bit further gone."

Neil grimaced as he turned up the water, watching it flush the green floating lumps down the drain. "The worst I've ever seen was when one of my girlfriends left a zucchini squash in the bottom of my fridge. I didn't notice it until one day I was searching for something else. It had almost turned to liquid, except for what was stuck to the shelf. The stink wasn't too bad, but it had to be one of the grossest things I've ever seen."

Mulder groaned softly in commiseration. "I think the worst spoiled food I've ever seen was the time I left some General Tsao's chicken in the fridge just before we got called out of town on a case. I came back a couple weeks later, opened the fridge door, and nearly suffocated from the fumes. I thought something must have crawled in there and died."

Neil grinned in response, silently appreciating the exaggerated look of disgust on Mulder's face, then turned to flip on the broiler. They continued to converse lightly while Neil prepared the makeshift meal, moving from food to sports, then on to politics and books. Mulder made himself useful setting the table, though it was done with a typical lack of protocol, the knives and forks dumped unceremoniously on the right side of the plates, the napkins laid half on top of the silverware.

By the time the steaks were broiled to a mutually agreed well-done, they had made strides into the exploration of each other's mundane tastes, the stuff of which most ordinary friendships were made, fitting together the pieces skipped over by their earlier precipitous plunge into confidence. Yet, somehow, having already formed that fragile bond, placing these foundation blocks into place was a comforting ritual, weaving around them a silken web of understanding to shore up the deeper contact.

"You mean he actually ate it?" Neil asked incredulously, the fork frozen in mid-air halfway to his mouth. Mulder grinned, then shrugged, poking at the few remaining kernels of corn on his plate.

"I don't know - but I think it's likely." Mulder chuckled.

Neil stared at him with revulsion, his mouth pursed as though tasting something sour. He plopped the fork and its speared piece of meat down on his plate with a satisfying clunk.

"Sorry," Mulder told him, with absolutely no trace of apology in his voice.

"You've got to be kidding!" Neil accused. He was utterly disgusted, yet he couldn't help seeing the humor in the story. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or be sick to his stomach.

Mulder shook his head, adopting an expression of exaggerated innocence. "I'm perfectly serious," he said gravely. "The case is on file with the FBI and the Florida police. Technically it's listed as unsolved, but I'm certain that Scully was right. It was Lenny's twin. I saw the little monster running around that damned fun house."

"If you say so... but you don't really believe that the geek actually ate it!? I mean...how could he?"

"I don't know, but I saw him swallow a mouth full of crickets, so..." Mulder replied, picking up another piece of steak and unconcernedly chewing on it. Neil eyed him with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

Mulder shrugged, swallowing, then took a drink of his coffee. "You get used to it."

"I think I'll stick with acting," Neil replied, gazing unhappily at the remnants of his dinner. "And I don't think I'm hungry any more."

"I'm sorry." This time Mulder really did sound repentant. "I promise, no more case-stories while we eat."

"I'm gonna hold you to that." Neil told him pointedly, then with a sigh, he picked up his fork and eased the piece of steak into his mouth. When it didn't come alive on him, he gratefully chewed and swallowed, ignoring Mulder's obvious amusement.

The subject matter turned on them again, this time to some of the more humorous things that can happen when filming a movie, especially on the road, and by the time they had finished the meal, both men were nearly doubled over in mirth.

"Now that I'd pay to see," Mulder said, pushing his plate under the faucet.

"How much?" Neil asked, taking the plate from Mulder and dumping it into the nearby dishwasher.

"What's the going rate?" Mulder joked back.

"Next meal's on you and I'll drag out the VCR."

"Done!"

Neil bolted upright, at first uncertain of where he was. His legs and arms felt cramped, and he belatedly realized that he'd fallen asleep curled up on the sofa. An eerie blue glow from the TV screen was the only light in the room, giving a menacing quality to the dark shapes of furniture and plants. Sitting up, he rubbed at the cramp in his right calf, wincing at the pins-and- needles lancing through the numbed nerves in his foot.

"No! Samantha! Samantha!" A terror- filled scream rent the air, forcing Neil into full awareness. Reaching for the lamp, he switched it on, blinking in the sudden flood of light. The tormented voice coming from the floor beside him sounded again, this time devolving into a sob of such anguish that it tore at Neil's senses like fingernails scratching on a blackboard.

"Mulder!" Neil scrambled over to kneel down beside the lanky figure of the man curled up on the rug, legs and arms drawn in against his shaking chest. The dark-haired head was bent down as far into the shelter of the long arms as it could go, the exposed muscles of the neck throbbing with each sob.

Neil hesitated, uncertain what he should do, but another broken wail stirred him into action. Grabbing hold of Mulder's shoulders, Neil struggled to awaken him.

"Mulder...Mulder! Wake up!" At first Mulder didn't respond, but then, so abruptly it threw Neil sprawling backwards, Mulder exploded out of his grasp.

"No! Scully!" Mulder ended up on all-fours, gazing around him wild-eyed, lost, his face contorted with fear and rage. His lungs heaving, he slowly fell backwards into a sitting position and drew his knees up to his chin. Locking his arms around his legs, he huddled against the front of the couch like a terrified child.

Neil got up and moved over to sit beside him. "Are you all right?"

Mulder didn't respond at first, rocking himself slowly back and forth. Just as Neil was about to panic, he finally lifted his head and stared blankly at the other man's anxious face.

"Mulder, it's me, Neil. Do you remember where you are?"

Slow recognition dawned in Mulder's stormy, red-lined eyes. "Neil?" He blinked, running his hand through his hair, forcing the short dark strands into utter disarray. His breath still coming hard, he gazed around him, then turned his tear-stained gaze back onto Neil.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

"For what? You just had a nightmare. Must have been a doozy - you were screaming."

"Yeah," Mulder rested his chin down. "I do that sometimes."

"Want to talk about it?" Neil asked, then nearly stumbled over himself in adding, "But only if you want to..."

Mulder shrugged his shoulder's inward, as though still trying to make himself as small as possible. "Nothing unusual. You know, the typical stuff."

"You want some water or something?" Neil felt helpless, not knowing how to react to the other man's pain. Cautiously, he brushed his fingers over Mulder's shoulder, only to jerk away when Mulder flinched.

"No, I'm fine," Mulder insisted in a raw tone, his entire body trembling with the effort necessary to maintain control.

"You don't sound fine," Neil argued. His sense of helplessness, of simply not knowing how to cope with the situation, battled with the surprising depth of his concern for his new friend, and lost.

"Talk to me," he urged.

Mulder shook his head silently, but Neil was firm. "It can't be any worse not talking about it. Please, I want to help."

Mulder remained silent for a moment, but it seemed inevitable that the words would come. They tumbled out of him, falling over each other, bleeding together into one long, unbroken breath.

"I see my sister, floating away from me. I try so hard to reach her, but I can't. She rises up into the light, leaving me alone in the dark. There are voices yelling at me, taunting me, I can't quite make them out at first. Then I hear my father yelling - so angry with me. Blaming me, my fault, my fault she's gone. And I see her crying in a white room, strapped to this table, men in white suits hurting her and then it's not just her, it's Scully too. I see flashes of when she was taken, the broken glass crunching under my feet. The blood on the table. I try to run to her, I run and run and run, but I can never get closer. I can hear her screaming for me, 'Mulder I need your help, Mulder!', but I fail her. I always fail her." Mulder's voice broke on the last word, winding down in a ragged gasp for air, which whistled into his lungs and then was heaved outwards.

Neil reached out to Mulder instinctively, wrapping his arms around Mulder's shoulders, enclosing him in a tight embrace. This time Mulder didn't flinch away, instead his hands reached up to take hold of Neil's arms, the fingers convulsing around his wrists.

"I'm sorry," Neil whispered, futilely. "I'm sorry."

Mulder didn't seem to hear him, instead he echoed over and over again in a desperate chant, "My fault, my fault, my fault..."

"No, no," Neil muttered. He didn't quite understand what all of it meant, but it wasn't too hard to figure out the basics. "Mulder, stop it! It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was, my fault. They were supposed to take me, why didn't they take me?" His voice rose into a shriek, "Why didn't they take me?"

Neil's heart was pounding in his chest. His mind raced, searching for the words to offer some kind of comfort, but finding himself bereft of answers. This was an utterly new situation for him, to be the one providing support to another person, to care enough to want to give of himself. Before finding his precarious sobriety in the past few months, he had never cared enough to feel this way about anyone, and afterwards he had been the one in need. Even if he had been aware of another's pain, he never would have believed that he had anything to offer. But now he found himself in the strange, unfamiliar position of wanting to ease this man's pain so badly that it didn't matter. To his shock, he realized that he'd willingly give whatever he had to give to Mulder, if only he could figure out how.

"I don't know," he finally said, helplessly. "But you can't blame yourself..."

"My father chose me," Mulder broke in. "I found out, it was his choice. He was one of them...he worked for *them*! But he wanted out - and they demanded a hostage to ensure his silence about the experiments. So he chose me; he chose to give them me. But they took my sister instead. They took the child he wanted to keep, and left him with the child he was willing to sacrifice. Left him with the child he didn't want!"

Speaking aloud something that he had held trapped inside for months, unable to share the burning agony with anyone, even Scully, finally robbed Mulder of any remaining control, and he broke into open sobs. His body shook in Neil's grasp, shoulders heaving with each cry, tears streaming openly down his cheeks and onto Neil's arms as they cradled him.

Rocking the man in his arms like a mother cradling her infant, Neil let his cheek fall against the silken darkness of Mulder's hair. Silently, his own tears began to trickle from between his squeezed-shut eyelids. They remained in that position for what seemed an eternity, until Mulder's cries dwindled into hoarse breathing, and he relaxed limply into Neil's embrace.

Sleep came slowly to them both. Never letting loose their hold on each other, they finally surrendered to exhaustion, sliding down to lay together on the rug, Mulder's face pressed tightly into Neil's chest, Neil's fingers still threaded through Mulder's hair.

Sunlight found them there, bringing them gently to awareness. They separated awkwardly, pulling apart to sit shoulder-to-shoulder against the couch.

"How're you feeling?" Neil asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Stiff." Mulder replied. Silence fell, and for the very first time between them, it was uncomfortable. The shared confidences of the night before had come too fast, explored too deep, opened too many wounds. Now, in the bright light of day, they were left wobbling, trying to feel their way onto more solid ground.

"Me too." Neil finally responded, rubbing at the back of his neck. Getting to his feet, he stumbled towards the kitchen. "I'll warm up the coffee. If you want to clean up a little, the bathroom's down the hall to your right."

"Thanks," Mulder found the small room and quickly took advantage of the facilities. Then splashing his face and neck with water, he stared grimly at his reflection in the mirror. The eyes that bored back at him were a dusty brown with a few green highlights around the edges of the irises, underlined by deep black shadows. He looked paler than usual, and his hair resembled a bird's nest, strands spiking out in all directions, the bangs covering his forehead in an ebony blanket.

"You're a mess," he muttered at himself, even as he weaved wet fingers through his hair, damping down the worst of it. Then giving up the effort for the moment, he wandered back out of the bathroom towards the welcoming smell of coffee.

Neil was sitting at the table, hands clasped around a small blue mug. At the sound of Mulder's footsteps, he turned around. Mulder winced at the heavy dark shadows marring the other man's bright eyes, a match for his own. Taking the seat opposite Neil, Mulder stretched out his legs, then closed his hands around the steaming cup waiting for him.

He took a grateful sip, the rich beverage warming his stomach, then looking up at Neil, he spoke lightly. "Sorry about last night. I didn't mean to keep you up so long."

Neil shook his head. "That's OK. I never used to sleep much, though it's odd not to be hung-over."

That won a wry, though still slightly embarrassed smile from Mulder. "I feel a bit like I am hung-over."

Neil chuckled. "Yeah - it was quite a night."

The uncertainty between them shifted again, warmth seeping back through the cracks. But Mulder was still feeling an intense shyness, a deep sense of embarrassment. An intensely private man, it had taken months for him to share as much of himself with Scully as he had done in so few hours with Neil. Mulder was accustomed to acting on his instincts, but he couldn't help worrying that he, as he so often did, had just rushed forward off a cliff without looking back. He was not at ease being intimate, emotionally or physically, with other people, and for all the sharing of the previous night, he had barely known Neil for twelve hours.

"That it was," Mulder said, faltering. Ducking his head down towards the hot drink in his hands, he muttered, "Thanks."

Neil was grateful that Mulder couldn't see the blush that reddened his cheeks. If Mulder felt uncomfortable with the suddenness of their relationship, Neil felt terrified. He knew so little of how to care for someone, yet he couldn't deny his own need for this relationship. The intensity of the desire to have someone in his life who liked him rather than the poses he usually portrayed to the outside world was frightening. Especially when he couldn't escape the nagging feeling that there wasn't really anything inside him worth liking, and that sooner or later Mulder would realize just how shallow he truly was.

Struggling in mutual silence with their own personal demons, both men jerked in response to the sudden blaring of a telephone. Mulder instinctively reached for his cell phone, only to belatedly remember that it was still in the pocket of his suit jacket which was draped over the couch in the other room. Meanwhile, Neil stood up and grabbed the receiver off the wall.

"Hello?"

Chris Docknovitch's voice sounded urgently in his ear.

"Neil? Are you all right? We expected you here half-an-hour ago."

"Half-an-hour? What time is it?"

"7:30"

"What? Shit, I'm sorry Chris, I must have overslept. Give me time to grab a quick shower, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Better meet us down at the courthouse. Ted and I can talk to you there before this morning's session."

"I'll be there, and Chris, I'm sorry about this morning. Tell Teddy for me?"

"Sure, just get moving."

"I will, thanks for calling."

"That's what you're paying me for. See you in... about an hour?"

"Yes, I should be able to make it by then. I'll meet you there in an hour."

Neil hung up and turned back to Mulder.

"I was supposed to be at my attorney's office half-an-hour ago."

Mulder glanced at his watch, then groaned aloud.

"And I'm supposed to be in the office now." He got quickly to his feet. "I guess I'd better run back to the hotel and change."

"You're welcome to shower here if you like," Neil offered, gathering up the coffee mugs and dumping them into the sink.

"Thanks, but I'd just have to put the same clothes back on," Mulder grimaced down at the rumpled remnants of his suit. "Might as well do it right - the Bureau has an image it likes to maintain."

Neil laughed.

"You mean they won't appreciate the "Miami Vice" look?"

Mulder shook his head.

"Not likely. The FBI leans towards the obsessive-compulsive in dress and appearance. They don't even like my ties!"

Mulder's eyes widened and his lower lip thrust outward in a slightly exaggerated pout, but the expression was effective enough to hit Neil squarely in the diaphragm. He swallowed hard, then grinned.

"Is that a natural look, or did you practice it?"

"What?" Mulder was startled for a moment, then he laughed. "A little of both. I have an unfortunate tendency to end up in hospitals, wounded 'in-the-line-of-duty.' So I've had a lot of practice at getting nurses to let me do things the doctors don't usually allow." He shrugged.

"I'll bet it works like a charm. Mind if I borrow it?" Neil tried to imitate the expression, not quite capturing it, but getting close enough to astonish Mulder.

"You really are good, aren't you?"

It was Neil's turn to shrug. "I've had a lot of experience, and I tend to borrow mannerisms from the people around me."

"That could get a bit weird." Mulder replied, as they walked back into the living room.

"I never really thought about it, but I guess you're right. It's just habit."

"A good one for an actor, I suppose."

"Doesn't hurt," Neil agreed. Once Mulder had gotten himself together, reclipping his gun to his waist and donning his jacket and shoes, they moved over to the door. Neil opened it to let Mulder through, then stood back.

Mulder paused in the opening, a tall dark figure silhouetted against the brilliant California sunshine. The light picked up soft reddish-brown highlights in his hair and bronzed the color of his skin in contrast to the wrinkled, but still snowy white shirt and black jacket. Fumbling in his pocket, he drew out a thin, slightly-crumpled business card and extended it to Neil.

"Here's my card. You can reach me at this number anytime, day or night."

Neil nodded, and took the card, glancing briefly at it.

"You know where to find me."

"Yes. Have a...I hope it goes well for you today." Mulder shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"It'll be fine, Teddy's the best," Neil offered, as much to reassure himself as Mulder. But that didn't negate the truth of the statement: the one thing that had held him together throughout the entire ordeal was his absolute trust in Theodore Hoffman. Mulder simply nodded acknowledgment.

They stood for an awkward pause, then Neil wished Mulder success with the bank case.

"Sure, it'll be a blast," Mulder replied, grimacing. He glanced briefly at his watch. "I'd better get going."

"Be careful driving down the hill."

"I will." Mulder turned and was gone into the early morning sun.

Neil pushed his way up the steps to the courtroom, desperately trying to avoid the microphones being shoved in his face. Keeping his eyes focused in front of him, he ignored the flash of the cameras and the screams of the crowd. Hands grabbed at him, and he twisted away, his arms raised in front of his face in an instinctive gesture of self-protection. When he got close to the massive oak doors, the courthouse guards finally moved in to help, forcing the swarm of reporters back while he slid though into the relative safety of the vault-like, air- conditioned lobby.

"Neil!" Tall, blond Chris appeared at his side as if by magic. Neil sighed aloud in relief, allowing the young attorney to steer him towards the elevators.

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic was awful and I didn't dare risk a ticket."

"That's all right, you're here now. Teddy's co-opted a room upstairs so we can talk before the session starts." Even as he spoke, Chris' eyes were carefully studying his client. Since being released from the rehab clinic, the former Hollywood playboy had been a model of decorum. Except for one night's relapse into the bottle, he had remained totally sober, avoided parties and bars, and had shown absolutely no sign of touching drugs. He always listened intently to his attorney's advice and followed it nearly to the letter, without complaint.

So what was different about him this morning? His explanations for his tardiness were perfectly reasonable, everyone overslept on occasion, and the traffic had been particularly awful that morning; a big convention downtown causing one of the major freeways to back up for miles. But Neil's manner had changed. He was not back to the wild, uncaring arrogance that had been his trademark prior to the murder, rather he seemed preoccupied, distant.

Chris' eyes narrowed as he followed Neil down the hall, then directed him towards the interview room Teddy had chosen. Just before he reached the door, Chris stopped in the hallway and got Neil's attention. Leaning close, he cautiously asked, "Are you feeling all right?"

Neil looked a little surprised, but he nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine." A boyish smile fleetingly crossed his lips.

"Look, Neil, before we see Teddy..."

A sudden flash of comprehension lit up Neil's eyes, and he grinned.

"I'm not on drugs, Chris. I haven't touched alcohol or anything else. I just had...a good night."

"I'm glad to hear that," Chris replied, a touch of apology in his voice. The absolute sincerity of Neil's reaction had been unmistakable, and there was no doubt that Neil's eyes were clear and focused, his hands and stance steady, his manner controlled and peaceable. "I'm sorry I had to..."

Neil gestured in dismissal.

"Considering my track record, I'd be more surprised if you weren't suspicious. And I do appreciate you're asking me straight out. This time we're both in luck - I'm dry as a rock."

"Good," Chris said warmly, clapping Neil on the shoulder. "I know this has been a tough ordeal. It's not easy to get over drug and alcohol addictions under any circumstances, much less in the middle of being on trial for murder. So I hope you know that both Ted and I are very proud of you."

"Thanks," Neil answered, his eyes bright. "That means a lot to me. I'd never have made it this far without you."

"You're welcome. Now let's get in there before Ted sends out the cavalry!" Chris said lightly. Neil chuckled and opened the door.

Rubbing at his nose beneath the stiff plastic frame of his reading glasses, Mulder squinted at the microfiche reader. He hated these things with a passion, but his desire to know more about his new friend had been stronger. Usually a workaholic of an extreme sort, when Mulder played hookey, he did so with equal, and characteristic fervor. Without so much as a word to the Bureau, he had gone straight from Neil's house to the police station, filed his report on the previous night's incident, then convinced a surprisingly obliging police sergeant into giving him access to the station's computer and library.

Those had provided just enough information to tease his insatiable curiosity, the details of the present case being held confidential by the DA's office. However, there were other avenues to pursue, and Mulder took the short trip to the public library filled with a sense of purpose that tripped like an electric charge along the edges of his nerves. It had been a while since anything had excited his mind like this, his last few cases with Scully had turned out to be hopeless dead-ends, and the present interim assignment would make a certain cure for insomnia.

Mulder turned off the dizzying screen and leaned back into his chair. Dropping his glasses onto the table, he closed his eyes. Despite the intensity of the abrupt and total sense of communion he knew Neil and he had both experienced, there were still so many unanswered questions. For all his tendency to make leaps of faith, Fox Mulder had a cynical streak that ran deep. Perhaps Neil's case was exactly what it appeared - the pathetic story of a man so lost to drugs and alcohol that he committed a crime he couldn't remember. Or was there more to it, a deeper conspiracy at work? Was Neil a murderer or a victim? If he was innocent, then who was guilty? And last, but hardly least, why did he, Mulder, care at all?

He did care. That one simple fact was inescapable. With typical recklessness, he'd opened himself up and let Neil in past the barriers that normally stood high and unscaleable between him and the rest of the world. It could, perhaps, have been that he had felt alone, missing Scully's steadying, soothing presence by his side, adrift in a place where he was unwanted and unneeded. Neil had needed him, desperately, and perhaps that was what had drawn him in. Mulder's mind drifted back to another lost soul he had known, a woman whose face had known its only peace in death. Lucy had given her life to save another from her own fate, a sacrifice that had left him both awed and grief-stricken.

Even Scully had never understood what Lucy meant to him, and in a sudden flash of comprehension, Mulder realized that he too had never fully understood. Until now. For it had not been the image of his lost sister that he had seen when he stared into her tormented eyes, rather it had been the distorted, yet somehow painfully true, reflection of himself. Neil was the same, he now knew with clear recognition. When he looked at Neil, it wasn't difficult for the naturally empathic, well-trained psychologist to read between the lines, to see the fears and insecurities only barely covered by the drugs and wild behavior. Mulder felt like he was staring into a mirror, looking at the reverse image of himself. The fear of abandonment, the sense of personal worthlessness and failure in one man led to an insatiable appetite for attention and sexual companionship, and in the other formed a wall between him and human contact. One tried to avoid his pain with the oblivion of chemical dependency, the other wallowed in it, using his own agony as a shield against the world.

Mulder saw clearly the could-have-been's, the almost- had-been's of his life laid out before him. Only his desire to avoid becoming like his father, a silent sense of rebellion raging deep within his soul, had kept him from falling into the sweet temptation that alcohol and drugs offered. He had felt that need, and had refused it, choosing near total abstinence in an unacknowledged, silent understanding that the road downwards would be an easy fall. For he knew well that he could lose himself in that oblivion with a terrifying ease.

However, he had somehow held fast, choosing another path. It was no less wrought with self-destruction, although it was less openly so. His quest for his sister, for the truth, had become his drug, his meaning, and he had let no one and nothing walk in its way. But when he looked into the eyes of a Lucy Householder or a Neil Avedon, he felt that connection stir within his heart. He knew them, for they were himself, as he might have been, and could still be. And yet, there was a silver lining to that cloud, for each of them had held within them their own salvation. Lucy had found hers in the simple act of trading her life for that of a child, and Neil was fighting his own way out of the depths of hell. Slowly, painfully, he was pushing aside the darkness and staring like a newborn child into the light of day.

Mulder could not walk away, and a part of his mind acknowledged that it had never really been a question. No one else might understand, not even Scully, but it didn't matter. If he could stretch out a hand in understanding to Neil, he'd also in a profound way be stretching out a hand to himself.

Neil absentmindedly stirred his tea, breathing in the steam rising from the large plastic cup. Somehow he'd gotten into the habit of drinking this with his meals, perhaps simply because it was less cloying than coffee yet provided a pleasant warmth to his hands. His mind wandered, his eyes drifting towards the large glass windows that lined Ted Hoffman's spacious office. Sunlight streamed through cracks in the blinds, splintering the carpet into lines of black and white. In the distance he could make out the shadow of towers, downtown LA surprisingly clear in the midday sun.

The fog had lifted for the time being, and in a strange way that was exactly how he felt himself. For now his vision was clear - clearer than it had been for much of his life. The panic was still there, pooled in his belly like a dead weight, but there was also a buoyant warmth easing the pressure. Memories of the night before kept racing past his eyes, fragments of vision, of sound, of sensation warring for supremacy. Laughter, tears, the pounding of adrenaline rushing in his veins swept through him, soothed by the memory of the way another man had felt sobbing in his arms. A sign of trust, of sharing, that had left him humbled in its wake, terrified of failing, yet desperate to hold on to all that it meant. Perhaps it was foolish to trust so quickly, but the feeling of understanding between them had been so strong...

"Neil!" Droplets of hot tea splashed over his hand, causing him to gasp as he spun in response to the insistent summons. Quickly setting the cup down, and suckling on the back of his hand, he turned startled black eyes towards an imperious Theodore Hoffman.

"Yes, Teddy?" He replied, wishing he didn't sound quite so hesitant.

Both attorneys stared at him for a moment, then Ted asked him outright.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Neither appeared convinced, and Neil drew in a deep breath before committing himself to an explanation of his present distraction. A part of him desperately wanted to keep the memory of this night private, to hold the new-found friendship inside - something all his own, like a secret treasure. But this was Teddy Hoffman waiting for him to answer, and Neil owed him the truth. He owed him his life, his sobriety, and any chance he had for a future. Besides, he trusted Teddy absolutely. He had learned the hard-way that the number of people he could truly call friend was probably less than the number of fingers on one of his hands. He was certain that Mulder could be trusted, but he had to accept that Teddy might question that assumption. Regardless, the story had to be told.

"I guess I should have said something sooner, but I kinda wanted to keep it to myself for a little while." Both of his attorney's faces took on an alarmed look, and he gestured to them to relax.

"Don't worry. I just had a bit of an adventure last night..."

Mulder blinked as he left the relatively dim, cool interior of the library for the sun-baked streets of LA. Shading his eyes with his left hand, he pushed his way through the noon-time crowds, searching for his rental car. It was parked haphazardly against the curb, and his eyes flew with first concern and then relief from the red sign in the parking meter to the empty front windshield of the car. A moment later, he was inside the vehicle, the air-conditioner blasting a remnant of hot air as he pulled into traffic.

Driving almost randomly, he reached quickly for his cell phone when it rang. Hoping it was NOT the LA Office demanding to know where he was, he abruptly spoke his name into the receiver.

"It's me." Scully's voice was a pleasure to his ear, and his face lightened in a smile.

"Hey Scully. How's the mom-to-be doing?"

"She's fine. A little anxious, but excited."

"I'm sure. When's your brother getting home?"

"Tomorrow," Scully replied. She fell silent for the space of a couple breaths, and when she spoke, her voice was hard- edged. "Mulder, what on earth's going on?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, every muscle in his body tensing. An odd, yet familiar sensation of a disturbing prescience pricked at his mind, somehow he just knew what she was going to say.

"You asked me to look into the Goldilocks case, remember?"

"Yes... What did you find?"

"Not much. I had barely started to run the man, Cross, through the NCIC, when I suddenly got called into Skinner's office."

"Skinner? What did he want?" Mulder's hand gripped tightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles bleaching white with the stress.

"To know what I - we - were up to. Somehow Cross' name must have set off some bells, and they came crashing down on Skinner's head. Orders are to back off from this case. We are not to get involved."

"You've got to be kidding!" It wasn't really a question, Mulder didn't doubt her word. However, his mind was reeling, this was the one thing he had never expected.

"No, I'm sorry, Mulder. But Skinner says to stay away from this case. Leave it to the police and the courts. It's already in trial."

"An innocent man is on trial!"

"Innocent is hardly the word to use for Neil Avedon," she interrupted harshly.

"Innocent is exactly the word to use," Mulder retorted, rushing ahead before she had a chance to reply. "Regardless, Scully, why would the powers-that-be care if you run a check on Richard Cross? Who's behind the pressure on Skinner to shut me out of this case? The very fact that they are interested has to mean that something's going here, something more than a drug- associated rape-murder. It is they, isn't it, Scully?"

"Mulder..." He could hear the exasperation in her voice, as clearly as he could imagine the accompanying expression on her face, mouth pursed, eyebrow arched. Then even the very nature of her breathing changed, and he felt her expression darken as she spoke.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Mulder...just be careful, please..."

"Always, Scully. Always..." he replied, his lips curving in a wry smile that never touched his wary eyes. Hitting the 'end' button, he dropped the cell phone onto the empty seat beside him. His gaze appeared focused on the sun-drenched pavement in front of him, but only a tiny portion of his brain was actually involved in steering the car through the steady stream of traffic. The remainder was asking questions, trying to fit together a seemingly random set of pieces into some semblance of a whole. Above all, one thought kept circling his mind like a vulture waiting to strike. How were they - the nameless, nearly faceless, powerful government forces that always seemed to be one step ahead of him, thwarting him at every corner in his quest to expose the truth - involved in Neil Avedon's nightmare?

His resolve was as certain as the heat of the brilliant noonday sun; he didn't have the answer yet, but find it, he would.

End Part Two

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